Don't fear death

Published: Wednesday, February 20, 2013 at 9:51 a.m.

Last Modified: Wednesday, February 20, 2013 at 9:51 a.m.

Mama's mother, Grandma Guillot, died when I was about 9. I wasn't really surprised when she died. I think, in her own way, she was preparing us for her death.

Grandma lived with us for quite a while before she died. We were a large family — Mama, Papa, their seven daughters and two sons. Add grandma to the mix and there were a dozen people in our small, rented house. Some of mama's older children eventually left home to work for other people as household workers, so after a while there were not as many people in the house.

As one walked into our living room/bedroom there was a large armoire in the front, right-hand corner of the room. It was on the top left-hand shelf of this armoire that Grandma kept her “funeral dress.” Whenever we had visitors, Grandma would open the armoire, remove a medium-sized box and raise the lid to show a beautiful dress.

“This is the dress I'll be buried in,” she would proudly say. She didn't say those words in English. She used her best Cajun French to give her little spiel. Her smile always accompanied her words. She was very proud of that dress.

I don't know where she bought the dress, or whether it was handmade by a seamstress, but her dress was exceptionally beautiful. Every time she showed it off to our visitors I couldn't seem to get close enough to admire it as much as I wanted to. I remember it as a beautiful gray color, not too dark, but neither was it a pale gray. The material was a soft crepe.

There were tiny buttons in the front, covered in the same material as the dress. Lace and tiny tucks adorned the front of the dress. There were no buttonholes, but there were tiny gray loops made of the same material as the dress. These loops fit over the buttons to form the closure on the front. I don't think I've ever seen a prettier dress in my life. Grandma died about 76 years ago.

Yes, Grandma wore her beautiful dress for her funeral.

As the women in the house were preparing her body for the wake, which was customary, Mama suddenly realized that there was no petticoat to go with the dress. Mama wasn't about to let Grandma go to meet her maker without a petticoat under her dress. One of my sisters used Mama's treadle sewing machine, which was operated by a foot pedal, to sew up the needed under garment. Although it wasn't as beautiful as the dress, the spur-of-the-moment petticoat served the purpose. Nobody would see it anyway.

Sometimes I think Grandma showed off that dress to teach us children that death was not to be feared. I think Grandma was somewhere in her 90s when she died. She looked so peaceful in that dress.

When Grandma died, wakes were held in the home of a family member. Her wake was held at our house. It was a solemn occasion, but not the least bit frightening. Grandma may not have been a teacher, but she sure did teach us that death was a part of life and that we need not be afraid. She added “spice” to life back then, when we were kids. What a lady.

Irene C. Michel, a native of Terrebonne Parish, is a columnist for The Courier and Daily Comet. She can be reached at 876-3252 or ICMwriter84@gmail.com.

<p>Mama's mother, Grandma Guillot, died when I was about 9. I wasn't really surprised when she died. I think, in her own way, she was preparing us for her death.</p><p>Grandma lived with us for quite a while before she died. We were a large family — Mama, Papa, their seven daughters and two sons. Add grandma to the mix and there were a dozen people in our small, rented house. Some of mama's older children eventually left home to work for other people as household workers, so after a while there were not as many people in the house.</p><p>As one walked into our living room/bedroom there was a large armoire in the front, right-hand corner of the room. It was on the top left-hand shelf of this armoire that Grandma kept her “funeral dress.” Whenever we had visitors, Grandma would open the armoire, remove a medium-sized box and raise the lid to show a beautiful dress. </p><p>“This is the dress I'll be buried in,” she would proudly say. She didn't say those words in English. She used her best Cajun French to give her little spiel. Her smile always accompanied her words. She was very proud of that dress.</p><p>I don't know where she bought the dress, or whether it was handmade by a seamstress, but her dress was exceptionally beautiful. Every time she showed it off to our visitors I couldn't seem to get close enough to admire it as much as I wanted to. I remember it as a beautiful gray color, not too dark, but neither was it a pale gray. The material was a soft crepe. </p><p>There were tiny buttons in the front, covered in the same material as the dress. Lace and tiny tucks adorned the front of the dress. There were no buttonholes, but there were tiny gray loops made of the same material as the dress. These loops fit over the buttons to form the closure on the front. I don't think I've ever seen a prettier dress in my life. Grandma died about 76 years ago.</p><p>Yes, Grandma wore her beautiful dress for her funeral. </p><p>As the women in the house were preparing her body for the wake, which was customary, Mama suddenly realized that there was no petticoat to go with the dress. Mama wasn't about to let Grandma go to meet her maker without a petticoat under her dress. One of my sisters used Mama's treadle sewing machine, which was operated by a foot pedal, to sew up the needed under garment. Although it wasn't as beautiful as the dress, the spur-of-the-moment petticoat served the purpose. Nobody would see it anyway.</p><p>Sometimes I think Grandma showed off that dress to teach us children that death was not to be feared. I think Grandma was somewhere in her 90s when she died. She looked so peaceful in that dress.</p><p>When Grandma died, wakes were held in the home of a family member. Her wake was held at our house. It was a solemn occasion, but not the least bit frightening. Grandma may not have been a teacher, but she sure did teach us that death was a part of life and that we need not be afraid. She added “spice” to life back then, when we were kids. What a lady.</p><p>Irene C. Michel, a native of Terrebonne Parish, is a columnist for The Courier and Daily Comet. She can be reached at 876-3252 or ICMwriter84@gmail.com.</p>